


Yes, Mistress

by ohmyfae



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: BDSM, F/F, Flogging, Modern AU, momfic, more tags and characters as they appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-07 03:37:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18612331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyfae/pseuds/ohmyfae
Summary: Aranea is a single mom, trying to manage a new life in Lucis after escaping the wreckage of Niflheim with her adopted daughter Solara in tow. To de-stress, she goes to a dominatrix for hire, who proves to be more and more addicting as time goes on... And who also happens to be her reclusive neighbor, who accidentally befriends Solara. It's only a matter of time, then, before it all comes out...





	Yes, Mistress

Solara Antiquum Highwind, the twelve-year-old menace of Insomnia Heights Middle School, sat quietly in front of Principal Harris’ desk with the vague smile of an absolute daemon. Her dark hair was pinned back with a glittery barrette shaped like a cake, little cupcake earrings sparkled in the light, and her uniform wasn’t so much wrinkled as it was rumpled, as though it hadn’t been properly ironed in weeks. Her shoes even had glittery violet laces, in open defiance of the school dress code, and a mess of rubber bracelets crowded on her wrists. 

Harris looked at the clock, and Solara kicked her heels on the carpet. The clock ticked away, dull and soft, while voices from the secretary’s office drifted in and out like the tide.

“Oh, hell, sorry I’m late.” Harris flinched when the door slammed open, but Solara just smiled, waving slightly at the woman standing at the door. She was in her early thirties, with long silvery hair, a plaid shirt tied in a knot at her midriff, faded pants, and a studded leather jacket. She took off her jacket, revealing a tattoo of a dragon curling around her right bicep, and leaned down to kiss Solara on the cheek. 

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Hey, Mom,” Solara said. 

“Mrs. Highwind,” Harris said, and both mother and girl turned sharply.

“Ms,” they said at once, and Harris quietly promised himself to buy a new bottle of brandy on the way home. He tried to infuse some steel in his gaze, but Mrs.— _Ms._ Highwind had the death glare down to an art. 

“Forgive me. Ms. Highwind. I’m sure you know why you’re here.”

“No, actually,” Ms. Highwind said. “And it’s Aranea. Ms. Highwind was my mother.” She pulled up a chair and collapsed into it, with none of the careful poise and posture of her daughter. “So Sol got up to something today? What was it?”

“She was impers—”

“Wasn’t asking you,” Aranea said. Gods, they were _both_ monsters. Harris could feel sweat prickling at his temples. “What went down, Sol?”

Solara cleared her throat. “The girls were calling me trash because I have a flip-phone and eat ramen all the time,” she said.

“Those pompous little shits!” Aranea said. “Sorry, kid. Don’t say shit.”

“I won’t,” Solara said, dutifully. 

“What Solara isn’t telling you,” Harris said, desperately trying to take the reins of the conversation again, “is that she convinced half the school that she’s the daughter of the late emperor of Niflheim.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, and Harris smiled to himself. Finally. Aranea turned her intense gaze on Solara, who looked down at her feet, hands clenched in her lap.

“Sol,” Aranea said, in a low, almost gentle voice. “We talked about this.”

Solara said nothing.

“If word gets out,” Aranea said, “We’ll have to move again. Do you want that?”

“No,” Solara whispered.

Harris blinked. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t… I don’t understand. Does Solara have a history of lying about her—”

“Excuse me?” Aranea said, and the air of the room seemed to drop a few degrees. “Are you calling my girl a liar?”

“You can’t say she’s actually—She isn’t _really_ —”

Aranea slumped in her seat, giving her daughter a swift, unreadable look. “Of course she isn’t,” she said. “The emperor’s dead.”

“And he never married,” Solara added.

“Yeah. We’d probably be in the middle of another war if the world found out he had a kid on the side,” Aranea said, still looking at Solara. Solara nodded slowly. 

“Good thing he doesn’t.”

“I’m glad that’s… that’s settled,” Harris said, and both Highwinds looked at him again, as though surprised to find he was still there. He tugged at his collar. “But the fact of the matter is, Solara had enlisted several of her schoolmates into carrying her books all afternoon—”

“They were just boys,” Solara said. Aranea grinned. 

“And brought several girls to tears,” Harris said. “It’s unclear what she said to them, but the school nurse says they swear up and down that they’ve been infected with some sort of _curse_.”

“It’s called being an asshole,” Solara said. “It’s incurable.”

“Sol! Language! Fuck,” Aranea said, turning back to Harris. “Sorry about this. We’ll have a talk. But I mean, she didn’t hit anyone, right? So she’s good?”

“No, she is _not_ ,” Harris said. “This is a warning, Ms. Highwind. If Solara acts out again, we may have to suspend her until she understands the difference between standing up for herself and causing a school-wide panic.”

“Noted,” Aranea said. She stood, and Solara stood with her, gathering up her bright pink backpack. “Well, if this waste of time is over… Come on, your imperial highness.” Solara grinned, and Harris ground his teeth so hard he could feel his molars creaking. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Har…dis. Come on, Sol, I’ve got an appointment this afternoon, and you’re gonna be late for ballet.”

Then she was gone, sweeping her daughter out behind her, leaving Harris bewildered and alone to gather up the last, wretched strands of his dignity.

 

\---

 

Aranea shut the driver’s side door to her car, lay her forehead on the wheel, and groaned.

“I’m really sorry, Mom,” Solara said. Aranea kept groaning, low and insistent, and Sol sighed loudly. “I was just so _mad._ They’re always acting like they’re better than me just because I’m in math club, and they have maids at home and their dads make six figures or blah blah blah, _I have the new PS7 and a chocobo named Champion._ ”

Aranea’s groan rose in pitch. 

“Mom!” Sol crossed her arms and kicked her feet up on the dashboard. “Okay. I shouldn’t have said anything. I just… I wish I could.”

Aranea turned to look at her daughter. “So this is what having a teenager’s like,” she said, and Sol covered her face with her hands and scoffed. She still looked like the little girl Aranea had found five years ago, sitting forlornly on a pile of rubble with her expensive gown a ruin of soot, swinging her bare feet at the base of what had once been the emperor’s keep. Aranea had known her the moment she saw her—Something about her eyes, maybe, and the stubborn tilt of her chin. After over a decade of working for the emperor, it was easy to see his face in hers, peering down at her from the wreckage.

There was nothing else she could have done. Nowhere for either of them to go. So she’d taken her, picked her up in her airship and crossed the border into Lucis, where they disappeared in the crowd of refugees. 

“We have a good thing going here,” Aranea said, and Sol nodded. “I know I can’t give you your own chocobo, or a PS whatever, but we’re doing okay, right?”

“Yeah,” Sol said. She lowered her hands and gave Aranea a watery smile. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

“Good, because ballet started ten minutes ago,” Aranea said, and turned on the ignition. They blasted pop music as they drove, and Solara sang along, waving her hand just outside the window to catch the breeze. She was almost smiling for real by the time they stopped at the dance studio on 36th street, and she hopped out with her hands clutched tight on her backpack. 

“I’ve got that appointment today,” Aranea said, as Sol fished out her slippers, “Then the boss wants me to drop off those papers for him. You okay with taking the bus home? There’s still some ramen left for dinner.”

“Yeah. No problem,” Sol said.

“Good. Kick ass, kid.” Sol gave Aranea a thumbs up, and Aranea backed out of the parking lot, watching her trip over to the studio doors. 

Her appointment, which Aranea was starting to schedule once a week now that work was testing her patience, took place in a small, nondescript building behind a strip of cafes. Aranea parked in a lot half a block away, checked her eyeliner, redid her hair, and tied and untied the front of her shirt three times before settling on a look. Then she stepped out of the car and made her way to the building, drumming her hands on her thighs. 

She had to knock twice before the door opened, and a woman in a white silk robe appeared, smiling softly.

“Aranea,” she said. “Good to see you. You’re early.”

“Yeah, well.” Aranea shrugged, shoving her hands in her pockets. “You know.”

“Come in.” The woman stepped back, and Aranea slipped through the door. “I got your email. Is that still how you’d like this to go, or have you changed your mind?” Aranea shook her head, and the woman twitched open her robe. “Good. Strip for me, then.”

Aranea sucked in a sharp breath. “Yes, Mistress,” she said. 

Mistress Diana, the best dom-for-hire in all of Insomnia, let her robe fall to the floor. 

She was a magnificent woman, really. Aranea always had a soft spot for femmes, and Diana knew it. She wore a short, sheer dress over her lingerie, high-heeled sandals, and her light blonde hair was tied up in an elaborate braid. Even her lipstick was soft, pink and muted, and a sylleblossom charm hung from a bracelet, which, despite having been in various states of undress for the past few sessions, Aranea had never seen her remove. Now, Aranea tore off her own jacket and shirt, fumbling with the tie at the front. 

“You seem on edge,” Diana said. She stepped forward and tugged at Aranea’s shirt, letting it fall open. “Stop. Kneel for me.”

Aranea dropped to her knees with a thump that shook the floorboards. Gods, she needed this. Diana stood before her, the lace of her dress tickling Aranea’s nose, and all she needed to do was lean a little and she could take that thong in her mouth, taste her, kiss along her inner thigh—

“Oh, you do need this,” Diana said. 

“Hell yes,” Aranea said, and grinned at Diana’s hard look. “Mistress.”

“Take the rest of this off,” her mistress said, flicking at Aranea’s shirt, “and stand at the flogging post.”

Aranea hurried to obey. She discarded her shirt and bra, stepped out of her shoes, wriggled her pants to the floor, and stopped, unsure. She looked up at her mistress, who smiled and reached out to dig her fingers in Aranea’s hair. 

“Good girl,” she said. “Don’t stand up yet.” She tightened her grip on Aranea’s hair and gently pulled her towards the post at the end of the room, shaped like an X with padded cuffs on either end. Aranea crawled after her, thrilling at the tug of her hair and the flogger that hung on the wall behind the cross, a promise of things to come.

She’d indulged in this a little in Niflheim, sneaking into the more exclusive clubs that didn’t bat an eye at a brigadier general showing up in leather and little else, but when Niflheim shot itself in the proverbial foot, and with a kid trailing after her on the long run to Lucis, she hadn’t had much time to think about it. But now, with Diana pulling her to her feet at the post and turning her to face it, she could finally sink have something to herself again. 

Diana kissed her wrists before she fitted the cuffs around them, and adjusted Aranea’s stance with a foot before strapping down her ankles as well. Aranea watched her lift the flogger from the wall, and shivered when she disappeared from view again. The straps of the flogger slid along her ass, gliding up her back, then pulled away.

“You can manage thirty to start. Tell me if you need me to stop,” Diana said, and waited.

“Yes, Mistress,” Aranea said, rolling her eyes. She could almost see Diana smile. Then the straps flicked up the underside of her ass, and Aranea clenched her hands on the cuffs.

Diana was an expert with the flogger. There was a small chain mingled with the straps, which made the stronger strikes sting and left long, pink stripes on her skin for a good day or so, and she never seemed to get tired. She brought Aranea to the edge, making her arch on her toes and pant into the wood pressed to her cheek, brought her down, then nearly tipped her over again, building up her pleasure like a rolling wave. She hovered on the edge of that soft, sweet distance that kept her coming back to Diana, week after week, and tipped over when Diana stopped to press a hand to the back of her neck, holding her still. 

“Stop squirming,” Diana said, lips brushing Aranea’s ear, “and maybe I’ll ride your face, after this.”

“ _Fuck_ me.”

“Not this time,” Diana said, and released her. Aranea struggled to remain still through the last, excruciating passes with the flogger, and sank in her cuffs when Diana finally stepped back, her praise sliding over Aranea in a fog. She vaguely recalled kissing the handle of the flogger, then Diana’s mouth was on hers, tongue parting her lips as Diana undid a cuff with one hand, then another. Aranea almost whined when Diana knelt to free her legs, and followed after her like a lost puppy as Diana pulled her towards the couch. 

“Such a good girl,” Diana said. She sat, legs parted, and Aranea dropped to her knees before her. “Best girl. You deserve this.”

Aranea braced her hands on Diana’s knees, looked up at her blown-out eyes and flushed cheeks, and pressed a reverent kiss on her inner thigh.

 

\---

 

Solara sat outside the door to her apartment, propping her head on her hands. She wished she had a phone. A proper phone, like those little snots in math class were always using, with videos and music and books jammed in. She was supposed to get one for her seventh birthday, back before the world ended, but by the time Aranea showed up, late as always, there wasn’t anyone around who could give her one. So she just skimmed through her history book, bored to tears, and wished Aranea could come _home_ already.

The elevator dinged, and Sol sat up, shoving her book in her backpack. But it was just some woman in a lemon-patterned dress, her blonde hair falling out of a braid wrapped around a ponytail. She had a black duffel bag over one arm, and she looked at Sol curiously, darting from her to the locked door behind her. 

“Lost my key,” Solara said. “And Mom’s running errands.”

“Oh, no.” The woman stepped out of the elevator. “I’m sorry.”

“Not the worst thing to happen today,” Solara muttered, and the woman raised an eyebrow. “Sorry. School drama. You know.”

“I might have an idea,” the woman said. She had a Tenebraean accent, like most of the servants back home used to, and the slight drawl to her vowels made Sol feel a little less jittery. “Do you know when your mother’s coming home?”

“No clue. Sometimes she gets held up,” Sol said. “ _And_ it’s dinnertime. _And_ I didn’t get lunch because I got booked by the principal for something that definitely wasn’t my fault, and I did my homework like, an hour ago, and I’m gonna _die_ if I have to sit here any longer.”

The woman laughed. “I’m sorry,” she said, when Sol glared at her. “It’s just that I’ve heard something like it before. My older brother was always getting called to the office.” She paused, fiddling with the strap of her duffel bag. “You know… I do live next door. You can wait inside until your mother gets here.”

“Really?” Sol stood, zipping up her backpack.

“No problem. I’m Luna, by the way.” She extended a hand. “Luna Nox Fleuret.”

“Solara. Fleuret like broccoli?” she asked. Luna squinted. “Broccoli fleurets. You know.”

Luna smiled again, narrowing her eyes. “Like flowers,” she said, “but close enough.”

She led Sol to the apartment next door, which had a little wreath of sylleblossoms on a nail on the door, and revealed a small, well-furnished living room awash in blues and whites. Sol took off her shoes in the foyer and dumped her bag as Luna crouched to greet two huffing, whining dogs, who licked her arms and face as though they hadn’t seen her in years. 

“Thought we weren’t allowed to have pets here,” Sol said, and yelped as the white dog ran over to nudge her hand. She petted her gingerly, and the dog wriggled in a full-body wag. 

“We aren’t,” Luna whispered. “I have to pay out the nose to get a dog walker to agree to help.” She set her bag down and looked at a note taped to the table, mouth twisting in a frown. “But not enough, apparently. Oh, well, I guess I can run home from work. Make yourself at home.”

“Thanks.” Sol examined the photos lined up on the kitchen counter as Luna went to the fridge, followed by the grey and white dog. The pure white dog stayed with Sol, pushing up against her legs. “Why don’t we ever see each other? I know all the other neighbors.”

“I keep irregular hours,” Luna said. She pulled out a container of what looked like curry and set it on the table. “Do you want something to eat? I only have leftovers, but I have more than enough…”

“Yes!” Sol grinned. “Yes, please.” 

She helped feed the dogs while Luna heated up the curry and rice. Luna was properly outraged at the way the girls at school treated her, even if Sol didn’t tell her about the curse situation, or the whole mess with telling everyone she was royalty. She even gave some pretty good advice, stuff about how to hold herself when people tried to trash-talk her, or how to stall for time in order to come up with a really good comeback. 

“Mom always says I need to take them out back and beat the crap out of them,” Sol said, taking a plate loaded with curry from Luna. “But I think she’s mostly kidding.”

“She probably is,” Luna said. 

The curry was amazing. More than amazing, really. It tasted like the kind of food Sol used to have before, back when the emperor still remembered he had a daughter floating around somewhere, and sent trained cooks to man the kitchen in his city house. He’d completely forgotten about other things, like tutors and governesses and Sol’s first name, but whenever Sol wandered the big, empty manor, she always knew something fantastic would be waiting in the dining room by the time the sun went down. 

“This is the best shit I’ve ever eaten,” she said, and covered her mouth with both hands. “Sorry! Food! I mean food.”

Luna hid a smile behind her drink. “Of course. Thank you, I think.”

“Seriously. You can make a living off this stuff,” Sol said. “If I had this for lunch every day instead of like, ramen and sandwiches, no one would talk shit about me again.”

“That’s quite a compliment,” Luna said. She sighed and pushed her gray dog away, which meant both dogs turned to Sol, staring wide-eyed at her as though they hadn’t just eaten ten minutes before. 

“You know what,” Sol said. “I just realized. _I’m_ reliable.” Luna stared at her blankly. “I mean, I have a schedule, and I stick to it. I’m always getting Mom out of bed and making sure we aren’t late for things, and I pay attention, and I do half the chores anyways. _I_ can walk your dogs.”

“Oh,” Luna said. “Oh, no. I don’t know if—”

“They like me, right? And I like them. They’re sweet. You don’t even have to pay me,” Sol said. “But what you _can_ do is, I can sneak over in the morning, right, and we can swap lunches.”

“You like my cooking that much?” Luna asked, holding her hand in front of her mouth to mask her grin. 

“Give it a chance,” Sol said. “Just one week. We can do it on a trial basis. I walk your dogs, you give me lunches, everyone wins.”

Luna watched her for a minute, gaze flicking from her to her panting, wistful dogs, and burst into a light, infectious laugh. 

“Oh, alright,” she said, and Solara beamed. “You have a deal.”


End file.
